Guardian Angel
by trufflemores
Summary: 3.22. Most people get one; Iris gets two. The Flash keeps her company while she waits for her Barry to bring her home.


The Flash sits on the twilit shore beside Iris.

Iris leans her head on its shoulder, and a forty-plus year Barry materializes in the ghost's place. A warm, familiar arm drapes around her back as Barry draws her against his side, pressing a kiss to her temple. He doesn't say a word, and she doesn't need him to speak. There are no words. The tide drifts back and forth like a rocking cradle, steady and even, and she could almost sleep.

When Barry murmurs, "Go ahead," she lets herself go.

. o .

He's there when she wakes up.

Head on the slightly older Barry's stomach, she listens to him sleep, feeling his Speed-warmth, ever-present, written in Flash's hand, an ever-present emissary, a connection between worldly and otherworldly, something tangible, something whole. The tide is still there in the background, and the night is so warm. She doesn't want to wake him up, but questions burn in her.

So she asks, "Barry?"

He stirs, sleepily, and yawns deeply. "I'm right here," he promises in a familiar, pacified tone, the we-did-it at the end of the day that mattered, that felt whole and happy and tumbled laughing into bed.

She rubs her cheek against his chest a little, savoring the simple point of contact. "Where am I?" she asks.

"Speed Force," he replies, a hand brushing down her side. "S'okay?"

Iris shuffles closer. "If you stay?" She waits until he nods. "Yes."

He kisses her forehead.

. o .

She doesn't know when she falls asleep again, but when she wakes up, a younger Barry hoots, feet in the water, and gasps delightedly, " _Iris_."

She can't refuse that tone, climbing easily to her feet. Movement is so unbelievably _fluid_ here and she barely exists, and she has never existed more, and she lets the heavenly bodies guide her towards him and captures him in a hug twenty-six-year-old Barry basks in. "Iris," he rejoices, lifting her cleanly off her feet. "My wonderful Iris!"

His joy is contagious; she laughs and when he sets her down she wraps her arms around his neck.

"My wonderful Flash," she murmurs, kissing his cheek gratefully. It's not her Barry, but it is _every_ Barry, and by extension, it can be any. And God, she almost forgot how much she loved him this young. "Hi, baby."

He draws her in a slow waltz through the shallow waves, never a threat of toppling over or sinking, and she dances in his arms under a Speed-lit night and wonders if this is what bliss was meant to be.

. o .

Eventually the younger Barry leads her out of the water and she sits on a rock when he instructs her to, promising to return, before kissing her hands and vanishing.

Closing her eyes, she waits, anticipating a gift, and then she senses its return, opening her eyes to see the Ghost standing before her. An older, much older, maybe two hundred years older Barry forms in the shadow's place, face revealing barely a day past thirty. He smiles. It's warm. "Hi," he says, stepping forward, gently clasping her hands in both his own, soft and sweet. "Can I – let me show you around?" he asks.

Iris stands, draping an arm around his waist, like old times, and he mirrors the gesture higher on her back.

A wolf materializes directly beside her and she doesn't flinch, reaching out to sink a hand in its fur briefly before they walk and her gait interrupts her grip. It doesn't matter – the wolf never lopes farther than a step or two ahead before slowing, letting them keep up. Older Barry narrates in an irresistibly soothing voice, "This isn't the afterlife, in case you were wondering, although your reason for being here suggests that it wasn't voluntary. However, rest assured – this is the safest place you could be." A warm smile precedes his next remark, "I always knew the Speed Force loved you, but _God_ , it loves you, Iris."

In tandem, the wolf presses its snout against Iris' stomach and she turns to it, letting go of Barry so she can kneel in front of it. It bows its head and she rests her forehead against it, hands tangling in its fur, warm and soft and so real. "You are its favorite person," Barry muses. "Above me, and everyone else."

The wolf rumbles, a deep, soothing growl.

"It gave me Speed so I could love you," Barry adds, and the wolf presses its forehead against her harder in low, affectionate agreement. "You're the one constant, Iris."

Then, reaching out, he rests a gentle hand on the wolf's shoulder and the Speed-wolf steps back, and she lets it go, too, and together Barry and it lope on, and she closes her eyes again.

. o .

She awakes with a Barry of indeterminate but nearly contemporary age snoring softly beside her. The sand is comfortable underneath her, but she still scoots closer so she can rest her head on his chest instead, listening to his Speed-snores, his Speed- _purrs_. He snuffles once and awakens with a slightly bleary, "Iris?"

She echoes, "Barry" and holds onto him for as long as The Flash will let her.

Barry sleeps, but The Flash does not grow weary.

. o .

Flash carries her.

 _Barry_ carries her – Flash is insubstantial, nothing-and-something without Barry – and she sways with the motion. Willing it to last, she keeps her eyes closed, and Barry hums softly to himself as he walks, depositing her carefully on a bed, _her_ bed, and draping the comforter over her. Then he murmurs, "I love you" and vanishes.

She never even sees his face, but she doesn't need to, nuzzling the sheets she knows.

It's always Barry.

. o .

Dad greets her. "Baby girl," he says, and she smiles, euphoric and relieved. Sitting up, she captures him in a close hug. His arms are just as warm as she remembers them. "Hi."

She rests her cheek on his shoulder. "Hi, Dad."

"We thought you'd be more comfortable here," Dad – Speed Force – some combination therein points out. Iris doesn't flinch from the reminder, thinking of the wolf, and thinking of Barry, and how intertwined the cosmic and grounded are. "Not that it's needed, but we can still cook some great pancakes."

"Just – stay?" she asks. "For a while."

"I'm here as long as you need," Speed-Dad promises, sitting on the bed next to her and letting her rest her head on his shoulder. "As long as you need us, Iris."

. o .

There's a storm outside, and she feels a shivering form next to her and looks over and finds Barry, a younger Barry, curled inward, and he twists a little and pants and she reaches for him, resting a hand on his back, and the strength of his _wanting_ is almost overwhelming.

It's the lightning, she tells herself, rubbing his back slowly, comfortingly, taking comfort in the simple act of it. It's the Speed Force like an ache in her teeth and a pounding heart. It's the merge of two realities, a burden still great for a young soul to bear.

"It's okay," she tells him, and Barry finally looks at her, relief exhausting his features.

"Iris," he breathes, scooting closer, and she hugs him, cuddles him, cradles the Speed Force itself in her arms as he hovers on the precipice, enchanted by the storm, grounded by her.

"It's okay."

Somehow, even without knowing any other details, Iris knows it's true.

. o .

When she climbs out of bed, she's alone. When she walks downstairs, she's alone. When she steps outside, she's still alone. So she walks.

The scene around her shifts, becoming a blank canvas, and then she feels her Barry arrive.

She knows it's him because his shadow does not precede him, his tangibility effervescent in the dark.

He wanders into her dark, mystic world and he looks lost, and afraid, and haunted, but when he turns she sees those golden eyes and knows he is hers, and when he says her name it is like a prayer: " _Iris_?"

She runs towards him, and he is faster, so much faster, but he stands still, and when she is close enough she lunges and wraps her arms around him, hugging him so tightly _she_ can barely breathe.

"Iris," he sobs, holding on, and she sinks a hand around the back of his neck and into his hair.

"Barry," she replies, and thanks the Speed Force for him _, him_ , the irreplaceable Barry Allen. "I love you."

He laughs wetly. "I love you, too," he sniffs. She cradles his face in her hands and holds on, just staring at him, admiring him. "I didn't – I didn't know where else to go."

"Right here," she replies, and leaning on tiptoe she kisses him, and he closes his eyes and she dares to follow him down, and when she opens them, her childhood living room emerges.

Her Barry is tired, _so_ tired, hasn't slept in days weary, but he still holds onto her with great strength. When Dad steps in for a hug, he scarcely lets her go; when Wally gets in his own, he is barely out of reach. The second they are satisfied, she turns to him, hugging him, holding onto him, breathing in everything he is.

There's a lot that has to be said and it's a carousel of converging emotions, joy grief devastation relief, around and around they go. She hugs everybody at some point and assures them to the best of her ability that she's fine, really. When they finally exhale and depart for one night, she draws Barry to the stairs, upstairs, into an old bedroom, closes the door behind him and pushes him down on the bed and curls up beside him.

She expects him to fall asleep, but he just holds onto her, wonderingly, astonished, bleeding aching, tender gratitude. "I love you," he says, delirious with it, kissing her face. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

She thinks, _Go to sleep, baby_ but he doesn't want to, Not-Yet, and she doesn't either. She helps him out of his armor-without-the-suit, and he brushes her shoulders, removing the entanglements separating them, and it is homecoming to be with him, totally.

After, when it is dark and even she is tired, she kisses his lilted-upright mouth and falls asleep on his chest.

Because finally, finally – she's _home_.


End file.
